


Docking procedures

by duesternis



Series: after all [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27080902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: John looked out over the dock and Tom raised his hand, unwilling to shout John’s name and seem overly familiar to the other officers.Together the Lieutenants came down the creaking gangplank and they clapped each other’s shoulders, shook hands and then dispersed to their families and the ale that waited for every thirsty sailor at the end of a long voyage.John looked at Tom.Their eyes met and then they walked towards each other.
Relationships: Thomas Hartnell/Lt John Irving
Series: after all [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969702
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Docking procedures

**Author's Note:**

> part two for John and Tom.
> 
> thanks for reading, please leave a comment at the end!

Tom stood, alongside a hundred other people, at the docks and waited for the docking to come to an end.  
When he didn’t take part in it himself he always thought it was unbearably long.  
But if he was up in the rigging, making sure that the ship safely came to rest against the harbour wall, well then everything was always very, very fast.  
He squinted up the varnished dark heights of the HMS something-or-other and was pretty sure he saw John standing at the gunwhale, face turned towards the men in the rigging, one hand lifted to shield his eyes from the slanting spring sun.  
In dress uniform, hat under his arm, gold glinting.  
Tom breathed, imagining the scent of wool and sea salt that must cling to John now, the sweat beading at the nape of his neck.  
And then. And then.

They lowered the gangplank, people started cheering and the crew left the ship.   
It was never as orderly as the Admiralty wanted it to be when they disembarked.  
There was a great shoving and pushing, sailors being pulled into the arms of mothers and fathers, wives and siblings. Lots of crying children.  
Lots of crying sailors.  
Tom stood aside, leaned against a stack of crates, and waited, smoking his pipe.  
The Officers were among the last to leave the ship, in reverse order of authority, the Captain always being the very last.

By the time he saw John standing at the top of the gangplank most of the hub-bub on the dock had already subsided. By now the inns and bars by the harbour were overflowing with the crew, probably.  
Tom grinned and pushed away from the crate, knocking his pipe against the side of it.  
Otherwise John would only steal it and Tom would never get a chance to hug him welcome home.  
By the end of the plank were the officers‘ families waiting with glad, tear-streaked faces for their missing men.  
John had no family waiting for him today. They barely ever made the trip down to Greenhithe to greet their son and brother.  
Instead Tom came to pick him up, when he was in the city himself.

John looked out over the dock and Tom raised his hand, unwilling to shout John’s name and seem overly familiar to the other officers.  
Together the Lieutenants came down the creaking gangplank and they clapped each other’s shoulders, shook hands and then dispersed to their families and the ale that waited for every thirsty sailor at the end of a long voyage.  
John looked at Tom.  
Their eyes met and then they walked towards each other.  
John’s kit bag was slung over the epaulette of his dress uniform and Tom took it off his hands.  
“Hello.”  
“Hello.”  
John took off his gloves and they shook hands, grasping each other tightly.  
Tom smiled, a crooked thing, when he saw that John’s eyes were misty, the scar on his lip worried red.  
“Where will they send your trunk?”  
“Edinburgh. But I’ll go up to London, stay a few days more.”  
“Admiralty?”  
“There’s a dance I’ve been invited to.”  
“Officers only?”  
John pulled an apologetic grimace and Tom squeezed his hand tightly.  
“I might make Lieutenant yet,” he said, knowing full well how unlikely that was. No ice master in training made Lieutenant.  
“I’ll take you along to every function, then.”  
“Promise me.”  
“Promise.”

They looked at each other for another long moment.  
“Are you hungry, John?”  
He shook his head. “I had a hearty breakfast. But I’m tired. You know how docking gets.”  
“Then let’s get you settled.”  
Tom grinned, slinging John’s kit over his shoulder, strap resting square over his chest.  
John touched it shortly, eyes dark and drawn inwards, his hand shaking.  
“Looks like the hauling strap on you.”  
Tom laughed and squeezed John’s arm. Leaned in, like a friend whispering a secret to another friend.  
“Only thing I’ll haul is your arse over my doorstep.”  
John’s eyes flew up, scandalised, but his mouth was already curling around a pleased smile.  
“Mr Hartnell!”  
Tom laughed and slung an arm over John’s gilt shoulders, knocking his hat firmly askew.  
John spluttered, knocking his sharp elbow into Tom’s ribs, which only made Tom laugh more.  
The other officers turned to them as they walked past, John barely managing dignified nods for them. He was shaking with laughter next to Tom, ungloved hands holding his hat.  
“Gentlemen,” John said primly.  
“Irving,” they answered, brows puzzled.  
Tom pulled his forelock, mouth wide with mirth. “Officers.”  
John groaned and ushered Tom on with a hand pressing between his shoulder blades.

“You incorrigible busybody," he hissed, once they were out of earshot.  
“Ah, John, that’s no way to talk to your gracious host. You should really know better.”  
John slapped Tom and slipped out from under his arm, tugging his jacket back into place. He tried glaring at Tom, but it only sent him laughing again.  
Tom thought quietly to himself that John was quite beautiful when he laughed.  
“Alright, alright! I’m sorry, I’m deeply grateful for you putting me up in your humble home, Mr Hartnell. Without you I would have to take my own rooms in a hotel somewhere and that would really not do.”  
Tom laughed and took John’s hand, squeezing it shortly, then letting go again.

He was going to kiss John’s mouth raw and red before the stupid Officers‘ Ball and everyone would be speculating about what kind of woman could have charmed Lieutenant Irving into kissing her so wildly.  
Which wasn’t better than possibly going with John and watch him be his charming self, maybe meet the other Lieutenants or the Captains again, but honestly it was better than sending him back to Edinburgh with unkissed lips.  
As long as Tom got to kiss the breath out of John, then he was happy.

So he smiled and took John home and kissed him until even John had to admit that all was well.


End file.
